Glee 1. Brittany S Pierce

**A/N:** I don't know what's going on, I have a 5 page essay due but then this happened and so I was like, "Oh, cool." This _is _my first fanfiction and I'm nervous about how it's going to be received and I also felt really confused when I was trying to publish this. But if you're reading this now (hello reader! don't forget to review), then that means I've successfully figured this whole shenaningan out (obviously).

Hope you enjoy! And like. And stuff.

* * *

**New York, 2042**

She made her way through the cemetery, white roses in one hand and a child with flowing blond hair holding the other. She's dressed in a simple black dress and her hair is down, letting the wavy black curls cascade all over her shoulder.

"Abuela, where are we going?" the child asks, her bright blue eyes scanning the rows upon rows of stones that represented individuals who had died too soon or had lived their fullest.

"We're going to visit a friend, Isabelle."

The child looks confused and frowns. "Does Abuela's friend live here? Where's the house?"

They reach the stone before she could think of a logical answer to give to her grandchild. She stares at it for a while, the simple white slab with a name carved in it, and she shakes her head. It still fazes her how this piece of rock is what represents the body that's buried deep underground, a kindred and free spirit she'd met long ago. She stares at the name, stares at it for so long, willing for it to go away, willing for it to have been all a dream. She'd done this a million times, but every time the name stays there, engraved and as clear as day.

_Brittany S. Pierce_  
_1988-2012_  
_  
_

Too young to have died._  
_

* * *

**New York, 2009**

Santana Lopez was sure that even though she was a trainee, she didn't have to sort out all the paper work. She should be out there, in the surgery room, saving lives. So what if she had sassed at the surgeon just before the demonstration and called him, quote, "A dumb monkey who screams like a banshee and looks even more like one." He had said women didn't belong in the surgery room, or something amongst the latter.

She didn't need to be put on paper duty _just _because of that. Nothing interesting _ever _happens during paper duty. At least, not when she does it. Sighing, Santana takes one of the forms from the stack and started filling them out.

She's halfway through her first stack when someone appears in front of her. Catching some blond hair in her vision and not bothering to look up, she said, "Leave, Fabray. I don't need another one of your lectures on treating senior doctors with respect. The guy was an ass anyways."

"Who's Fabray? That's a weird first name."

Rolling her eyes, Santana said, "Really, Quinn? I'm not in the mood to-"

And her eyes meets the eyes of the girl who's standing before her, striking blue eyes that seemed to twinkle and dance and shine all at the same time. Santana felt like someone had punched her in the stomach and then emptied out all the words she's ever learned since birth out of her head.

"Are you Fabray?" The blond squinted at something on Santana. "'Cause your name tag says Santana, unless you got the wrong name tag like Lord Tubbington once did when he went to work at a grocery store but got kicked out when he tried to make a move on the manager's daughter."

"Uh." _Smooth, Lopez. Real smooth_. But all Santana could think of was, _what's a Lord Tubbington?  
_  
"Oh! I'm here for an appointment." The blond girl grins. Santana almost falls out of her chair. "I think his name was Dr. Schuester. Do you know him?"

"Go down the hallway and turn right at the fifth door." Santana's eyes widen because she's pretty sure she didn't tell herself to speak. Words were tumbling out of her mouth now. "It should say room 113, but I'm not sure if he's in or not, I'll just page him or something." She takes in a large breath and picks up the phone. "Hold on."

Santana's relieved when the blond girl just nods and rocked herself back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting for her to finish the call. "Will? Yeah, you had an appointment? Right." She nods into the receiver as Will Schuester explain how he got the times mixed up and would be there to meet the blond in 10 minutes, but judging by how flustered he sounded, Santana suspect that he just got his macks on with one Emma Pilsbury, a nurse she worked with once. "Whatever, Schue. Just put your pants on and don't forget the belt. See you in ten." She hangs up before Dr. Schue could stutter his way to denial.

She stares up at the blond again and her infectious grin is still there. Santana smiles back and continued working on the forms she'd been assigned to. "Thanks," the blond said, "San."

Santana's almost drops her pen and then felt her pulse quicken. Her heart is soaring. "It's no problem, really," she manages out, glancing at the blond quickly before looking down at her work again. _Please, someone save me._

"Hey S!"

_Fuck, shit, no, anyone but Quinn, come save me_. Santana knows immediately where this is heading. Quinn's going to embarrass her more than she'd already embarrassed herself, and then tease her about it relentlessly afterwards. _Anyone but Fabgay.  
_  
But then came the shrill and loud voice of Rachel Berry, the nurse Santana had known since high school. Rachel was probably the most blunt person she's ever had the chance to meet. Santana shut her eyes tight. "Hey Santana!"

_Why me, God?_

She could feel the striking blue eyes of the blond on her, and it scares Santana how she could picture how the blond is standing now- her head tilted a bit sideways and her brows furrowed ever so slightly, fiddling with her fingers and kicking at the ground. When Santana opens her eyes, she almost dies on the spot, because _God, _it's even more adorable in real life.

Quinn approached her just as she's secretly adoring and gaping at the blond before her. "So, guess you learned your lesson, huh, Lopez?" She leans on the counter that's separating Santana from punching her in the face.

"Shut up, Q. The guy was a major ass," she mumbled, almost whiningly.

Quinn sighed. "When will you ever learn to just keep it to yourself until they leave-then you can bitch about them all you want to me!"

"It's better to bitch about them in their faces, I promise," Santana countered. "I mean, would you rather me tell you that you're over reacting right now or talk smack about you to Berry?"

"I'll defend you, though, Quinn!" Rachel half yelled.

"Good to know, Rach," Quinn said, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Please, go be gay somewhere else, I have _work_to do." She gestures to her stack of forms she was supposed to fill out before the blue eyed blond-

Santana's eyes shot to where the blond was standing a minute ago, only to find her talking to Schuester. The blond seemed to have sense her staring, though, because she caught her eyes and beamed. The blond waved a small wave before heading off with Dr Schue to his office, and Santana almost falls out of her chair the second time that day. Then, she realized that she didn't even know the blond's name. She slinks down on her chair and slowly to the ground.

* * *

"Oh Santana, the moping won't do you good! Have a little faith! Maybe you'll meet her again!" Rachel exclaimed as they drove down the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Berry, not in the mood," Santana threatened from the driver's seat. "I will intentionally drive off this bridge if you open your mouth one more time."

Silence.

"You know, Rachel's right."

"Fuck, Q, what part of _I will drive off this bridge _don't you understand?"

"You said that's if Rachel opened her mouth," Quinn protested from the back seat. "And even if Rachel opened her mouth right now, you wouldn't have the guts to drive off this bridge anyways."

Santana shot her a look from the rear view mirror. "I'm never driving you two home again," Santana huffed. "Even if we live in the same apartment. You can all take the bus."

"I mean, what kind of woman forgets to ask a pretty lady's name?" Quinn went on.

"I'm serious, Q." It's been a week since the blond had shown up at the hospital, and Santana-to everyone's surprise-had volunteered for paperwork duty everyday. After around the third day-in which Santana had threatened to make Rachel even shorter than even the hobbit height she was at because she had volunteered for paperwork-Quinn questioned her motives. Then everything spilled and Santana had mistakenly complained about not even knowing the girl's name. She still remembered how Quinn had tried not to laugh and Rachel unable to hide the face she only reserved for people who sang horribly in her presence. Santana gripped the steering wheel tighter as she tried to think about ways to kill Rachel Berry and her stupid face. She tried another topic, hoping to steer the conversation away from her and the beautiful blond that she will never get the chance to know. "Well, since it's a Friday, what do you guys want to do?"

"Google 'hot blond with beautiful and enchanting blue eyes' and go on a manhunt."

Santana swerved the car, causing both Quinn and Rachel to scream.

"I told you I'd do it."

Another silence.

Rachel, as always, broke it. "It _does _sound like a good way to spend Friday night though."

* * *

To be honest, Santana love her friends. Even, as annoying and loud she is at times, Rachel. But as she sat at the sushi restaurant at West 49th street they frequent at ever since their friend Mike Chang opened it, and Rachel and Quinn counted the number of blonds with blue eyes that were coming in the restaurant, she couldn't help but think that perhaps these were the only people in the world she hated the most.

"So, that's ten since we've been in here," Rachel said as she picked up a California roll expertly with a pair of chopsticks and dipped it in soy sauce.

"I hate both of you," Santana stated, glaring at Quinn as she smirked. "The chances of her showing up here are zero to none. New York is huge. It was just one time that we met, we're not going to meet again!"

Rachel opened her dumb mouth. "You're still so smitten by her, it's cute."

"Listen, Berry, if the drive here wasn't enough of a warning that I _will_ kill you one day if you don't shut up, I will choke you to death with this chopstick right now."

Rachel opened her mouth to try and defend herself, but was cut off by Quinn. "Hey, look! Another one!" She pointed towards the door and Santana just rolled her eyes and stabbed at her own California roll.

"It's not her, Q," she mumbled, disappointment rushing through her already. She'd secretly snuck looks at all the ten blonds that Quinn and Rachel had pointed out ever since they had sat down. She's not bothering to look again.

"Santana," Quinn huffed, "you didn't even look!"

"I'm not going to hold on to something that's not even going to happen."

"Hey, she's talking to Mike!"

"So? Probably one of his dance buddies. He's always wanted to turn this place into a dance studio."

"Santana, she's hot."

Santana couldn't help but picture the blond at the hospital again. "Look Quinn-"

She didn't even get to finish her sentence because Rachel had reached over the table and forced her head to turn towards the front door of the restaurant. Her eyes immediately found the striking blue ones she had day dreamed about for the past week. She felt that familiar rush, that tug on her heart she couldn't explain.

_Well shit. It's her._

* * *

"Someone call 911!" yelled the bald man with enough facial hair to make up for his head. "Is anyone a doctor here?"

Santana's eyes shot up. For past hour she'd been trying to think of a good way to approach the blond without looking too creepy or stalkerish while Rachel and Quinn cooed about how smitten she is, because neither of them had ever seen Santana like this—_nervous. _Then she'd completely given up, because what if she isn't into girls like she is? What if she didn't even remember her? And most of all, _what the hell is she actually doing, _ head over heels with a girl that she's only seen once, and barely spoke to because she was too busy staring at her_._

Maybe it was just because the blond had really, really pretty eyes and long, tan legs that made Santana gulp.

"Santana!" Quinn snapped, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Let's go!" Quinn's half out of her chair already, making her way to the bald man that was standing over the fallen girl. Kneeling next to the blond was a man with huge lips and a small woman with brown hair and a pink crown atop her head.

Santana whipped into professional work mode as she and Rachel and Quinn made their ways over to the fallen girl.

For the second time that day, Santana thought, "_Well shit. That's her."_

"What happened?" Quinn questioned, already kneeling and trying to get a pulse from the blonds' wrist while Santana tried to slow down her breathing because she's pretty sure she's going to faint, too. She rolled the blond over so that she was lying on her back.

"She said she felt dizzy and- and then she got up to go get fresh air and then she just _fell_," the woman with the pink crown said, her voice squeaky and alert. "Is that even going to _help_?"

"Any previous health issues? History of heart attacks?" Quinn questioned, as she tried desperately to loosen the blouse the blond was wearing, which looked a bit tight.

The woman shook her head, "I don't know," she breathed. "Oh, God, I don't know." She looked to be on the verge of tears. Rachel was quick to rush by her side

"It's okay, it's fine. We're going to wait until the ambulance gets here, okay?" Rachel said, holding the woman's hand and telling her to breathe properly.

Santana knelt down and checked the blonds' breathing and for bruises or cuts during the fall. Then she lifted her legs and hoped she woke up soon.

* * *

She didn't. She remained there, unconscious after about a minute or so, while Santana yelled at Rachel to call the ambulance _now_. And then the rest was a blur. A blur of Rachel fending off the crowd of people beginning to gather as they tried to see what was going on, and the man with fish lips trying to tell the medics what happened because the woman with the pink crown was too busy crying, and riding in the back of the ambulance, sandwiched between Rachel and Quinn and Pink Crown and Fish Lips.

Santana briefly remembered holding back because she had wanted to hold the blonds' hands so bad, but thought it'd be strange because she had only just met her once. She remembered getting out the ambulance and switching the blond from the stretcher to the hospital bed, and rolling her down the sickeningly bright hallways of the hospital she worked in.

Then one of the doctors asked for a name. She was about to say she didn't know, she'd only just helped out when the blond fainted at the sushi restaurant, but then came the raw and hoarse voice of the woman wearing that stupid crown, holding the blonds' hand as they made their way down the hallway.

"Brittany," her voice solemn and worried. "Brittany S. Pierce."

And that's how Santana learned the name of the woman that changed her life.


	2. Maybe This is Love

**A/N: **First off, thanks to all the people who reviewed/followed! I'm overwhelmed by how well this was received. Caught a few grammatical errors when I reread the first chapter, so if anyone know any betas or want to beta this story, PM me (that's what they say, right?). I hope this whole thing is long enough and all.

Oh! Forgot to mention, I changed the years of birth of Brittany, because I wanted them to be the same age, so as of right now, Santana's 21, and a trainee at a hospital (I don't know if that makes any sense that she's training at a hospital already at this young an age, but let's just go with it?).

* * *

**New York, 2009**

* * *

Santana wasn't one to stay at the hospital waiting room, but Fish Lips had bought coffee for her and Quinn and Rachel while Pink Crown went off to fill out forms and contact the blond's relatives. Or at least that's what she tells herself as she stared down at the black churning liquid in her styrofoam cup. She's staying for the coffee. The coffee that was probably made from sewer water and poison.

"The name's Sam."

Santana looked up. "Oh. Good." She takes a sip of her coffee and winces. "I won't have to call you Fish Lips any more."

Sam looked confused, but went on. "The other girl's name's Sugar. It's supposed to be her 20th birthday today." Santana didn't really know what to say, so she keeps taking mini sips of the black poison the hospital called coffee, telling herself that she was here because she couldn't _deny _free caffeine. Then Sam laughed a little. "You know, Brittany had her annual check up last week. She kept talking on about how she met a pretty Latina."

Santana almost spits out the coffee she was trying to drink, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Quinn smirk.

"Oh, really?" questioned Quinn, in all her elegance and charm. "Like what?"

Santana pretended she wasn't listening while hoping for an answer from Sam, but before he could open the giant black hole he called a mouth, Sugar came rushing in.

"We can see her now!" she yelled excitedly. "She's still sleeping, but we can see her!"

Sam stood up. "Really?" He grins and turns towards Santana. "Do you guys want to come?"

Santana nods before she could even stop her actions, gulping as she stood up with Quinn and Rachel, following Sam out the waiting room. They stopped at a door with the number 34 written on it in big, blocky letters. She doesn't know what to expect when they opened the door, but the sight made her heart ache and do jumping jacks all at the same time. The blond looked so peaceful on the hospital bed, sleeping soundly and not at all aware of their entrance. Sugar gestured for them all to be quiet. Then she turned and smiled at the blond. "Britty-bee look so peaceful," she whispered. "She's been so stressed this past week."

Sam nodded. "It's weird seeing her like this. Resting."

Sugar giggled before taking a fold up chair that was resting at the far corner of the hospital room and placing it beside Brittany's bed. "Yeah. Whenever we see her she's always hyped about about something."

Feeling like an intruder in this conversation with these people that Brittany probably call her best friends - and Santana just the pretty Latina doctor in training that she'd only met once - Santana quietly slipped out of the room. Her heels clicked and clacked against the hard floors of the hospital hallway, and she wonders if she should've waited until the blond had woken up. Maybe something quiet wonderful had slipped out of her fingers; and worse, Santana herself had allowed it to happen.

* * *

It wasn't until it was midnight that Rachel and Quinn came stumbling in the apartment they had shared at the Upper Eastside of New York. Santana had took to herself in flopping on the couch and taking a much needed nap, half awake when she heard the jingling sound of a key being wiggled in the lock, a click, and the door swinging open. She heard Rachel shush Quinn. "She's probably sleeping." There was giggling. "I've never seen her like that."

"Running off? She's always done that," scoffed Quinn.

"No. So _nervous._" Rachel's giggling were getting louder now. "And we both know that Santana Lopez _doesn't _do nervous. It's usually bitch mode or no mode at all."

Quinn hummed, and Santana prayed for her to change the topic. "That Sam guy seems pretty cute," she complied, and Santana could almost see her eyes shine in mischief, the way it does when she was planning something in that chaotic and crazy brain of hers. No, not crazy. It just worked a bit different than Santana's, in a way Santana would never understand.

"Oh," Rachel stuttered. "I-I guess so." And that's when Santana knew, because Rachel Berry _never _stuttered. For once, she understood why Quinn said what she said. Santana could almost see Rachel shrug. "Maybe he's Brittany's boyfriend."

Santana almost stopped pretending to be asleep just so she could get up and slap Rachel in her face. But what if Fish Lips _was _really Brittany's boyfriend? Who would want to kiss him? He had a mouth big enough to swallow an entire watermelon. Hell, he can probably swallow the entire Earth whole.

"Maybe not," Quinn argued.

"Maybe not," repeated Rachel. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Quinn."

A sigh. "Goodnight, Rach." Santana hears the heavy footsteps, trudging up the stairs. She knows what to expect next, but she still feel sheepish when Quinn cleared her throat. "I know you're awake, Santana."

Santana sits up on the couch, hair tousled and a grin on her lips. "I'll never understand you, Q. What's so bad about saying, Hey, I like you. Let's go on a date sometime and maybe have lady sex afterwards, but not when Santana's home, cause that's just gross?"

"Screw you, S. Go to bed."

"You know we've known her for only four months now, and you've already invited her to live with us because she had trouble with rent money and became one of her closest friends? You know how long it took for me to be your friend? Four years, Q. _Four._"

Quinn scoffed. "That was high school. We were too bitchy to know any better."

"The glory days." Quinn laughs, and that makes Santana a bit relaxed. She hated seeing her best friend stressed and sad, even though she'll never admit it. "Well, I'm going to bed now." She yawns and started heading for the stairs.

Half way there, Quinn calls out. "Hey, S?"

"Yeah, Q?"

"Why'd you leave before she woke up?"

Santana sighs. "I don't know, Quinn. I don't know."

* * *

The weekend goes by much faster than Santana expects, between teasing Quinn and Rachel about their mutual crushes and running errands, she was back at work and training before she knew it.

Monday mornings were always dreaded.

She sits at the counter again, doing paperwork. It wasn't to meet Brittany again though, it was because it was simply her turn. Isn't this suppose to be the nurses' job? Why did trainees have to subject to this?

"Doctor Lopez?"

Santana looks up and almost flings the stack of paper she has on her desk into the air.

"Uh. Hi."

The blond before her grins, and takes her hand out for a shake. "I'm Brittany! Thanks for taking care of me on Friday."

Not knowing what to do, Santana takes her hand and shakes it. "Santana," she said, smiling. "How'd you find me?"

That's when Brittany started to look a bit nervous. "I'm not stalking you, I swear! It's just that when I woke up, Sam and Sugar introduced me to Rachel and Quinn, and Sam told me that they helped me get to the hospital, but there was this pretty Latina who left as soon as she saw me, and Rachel just sort of got this _aha! _facial expression on and blurted out your name." She lets out a huge breath of air. "I'm sorry, did I ramble?"

The blond looked so flustered that Santana couldn't help but laugh. "No, no it's fine. I'm going back to work though. Did you have another appointment today?"

Brittany shook her head. "I'm all clear. I have another check up next week though, I'm getting the results on some tests on why I fainted. I'm pretty sure it was the stress the past week," she said. Then she grinned. "Thanks for saving my life, by the way. Maybe I can take you out for coffee as a thank you present!"

"I didn't really save your life," Santana laughed. "I just..." She trails off, unsure of what to say.

"Saved my life. Don't be so modest, San," Brittany scoffs. "You're going to make a brilliant doctor one day."

And Santana almost melts on the spot. But mostly she's surprised by Brittany's forwardness. "I get off at six." Her eyes widen because wait, did she really just say that? God, what is with this woman and her ability to let words out of Santana's mouth before she could even think about it?

Brittany just grins, though. She smiles a lot. And somehow, that makes Santana smile too. "Dinner, then."

Santana could barely wipe her own smile off her face when she said, "Dinner sounds great."

"I'll see you at six then, right here?"

It was barely noon and Santana's already waiting for the day to end already. "I'll be here."

"You better," Brittany teased, as she walked away.

"Yeah," Santana chuckles. "I'll be here."

* * *

**New York, 2042**

* * *

The roses were long forgotten in her hand as she stared down at the stone, Isabelle still holding her hand.

"Abuela?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"Did you love Brittany?"

Santana's surprised by her granddaughter's bluntness, but then again, children had a knack of figuring things out long before the adults do. "Yes, bee. I loved her very much."

"Oh. Did you love her like you love Grandma?"

Santana doesn't know how to answer, because she knows that she couldn't love anyone like the way she loved Brittany. She'll never look at anyone the way she looked at Brittany. But she'll never grow old with Brittany. She'll never have children with Brittany and she'll never be able to spoil their grandchildren with her. Because Brittany was taken from her too soon. And there it is again. The thoughts that haunts her daily and gnaws at her insides; the unfairness of it all. She was happy now, but she couldn't help but feel a little bitter towards the world whenever Brittany was mentioned. Mostly memories of them in her head and in hidden photo albums from long ago, but there was still the resentment towards everything because _Brittany,_ the woman she will ever truly love, was taken from her before she could even start to build a life with her.

So instead, she turned to her grand daughter and shook her head, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "No. No, bee. I didn't."


	3. A Phone Call Away

**A/N: ** It's Christmas Break, which means lots of updates! I hope you're all still enjoying the chapters and that I'm writing in character.

Big thanks to all who reviewed, especially boredsenseless2, who has given me great critiques that I take to heart. A million thank yous to those who followed this story, I hope it won't disappoint.

Again, if you've got questions or concerns or critiques, don't hesitate to drop me a review!

And without further ado, here is chapter 3!

* * *

**New York, 2009**

* * *

Santana doesn't see Brittany for another week after that one dinner. That one friendly dinner that wasn't a date at all. That friendly dinner that Santana laughed and smiled all throughout, and Santana's pretty sure she's never smiled that much in one night before. But it was just one dinner.

That's what Santana tells herself after Brittany turned away when she leaned in for a kiss at her front steps, looking apologetic and making Santana feel worse.

But at the same time, she felt happy and giddy over the blonde that she had gotten a chance to know during that dinner. She had learned that Brittany was a dancer and owned a cat named Lord Tubbington. She'd learn that Brittany liked a lot of things, but her favorite thing of all things was cheese fondue. And when Santana had joked about one day being her most favorite person of all people, Brittany had laughed and said perhaps she already was.

Santana's heart fluttered and her brain almost melted, which on occasion is quite rare. She couldnt help but want to know more about Brittany. What's her favorite color? Did she like oatmeal cookies or chocolate chip ones? Where did she grow up? There is no boyfriend, is there?

She wanted to know what Brittany does when she's nervous or shy, she wanted to be the cause of that twinkle in her gentle blue eyes whenever she was excited or happy. Santana wanted everything, and yet she couldn't even bring herself to call the number written on her napkin, with a note that read, _Don't wait til it's too late! Might have ran off with Lord Tubbs by then. ;) Thanks for dinner, Britt._

It said to not wait too late, right? It's been a week. A week isn't too late. In fact, Santana reasoned, it might be too early.

"Geez, S, would you stop staring at that piece of napkin and call her already?!" Quinn huffed as she came down the stairs, spotting Santana sitting and staring at the wrinkled napkin on top of their round glass dining table. She makes her way to the kitchen and heads for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before standing up and criticizing Santana. "It's been a week! In girl terms, that's like a month!"

"What if she gave me a number to a pizza place because she didn't really like me at all?"

"For Christ's sake Santana. It's Brittany! You came back from that dinner all smiles and then Rachel got a bit creeped out and asked if you've been doing weed behind our backs. Just put us out of our miseries and call!"

Santana wasn't one to shy away from these things, but she just couldn't bring herself to even press a few numbers and press the call number, so she said, "Maybe I'll do it after dinner."

The next thing that happens is a blur to Santana, because Quinn appears by her side, set down her bottle of water, and grabs the wrinkled and torn napkin so quickly that she doesn't even have time to yell or threaten to cut her.

"What the hell, Q!"

Quinn darts away from Santana, napkin in hand and a triumphant smile on her face as she ran towards the living room, laughing. "If you won't call, I will!" she screamed as Santana chases after her in circles around the white Ikea couch. Santana swears that she's never wanted to kill someone so much as she wanted to kill Quinn right now. Actually, that was a lie. She's always wanted to skin Rachel on a daily basis.

"Fuck you, Fabray!"

Quinn takes a moment to read the number on the napkin before taking out her cell phone from her pockets, still running from Santana. They had moved from going in circles around the couch to just darting in different directions in their small New York City apartment, where everything was wide and open and there was hardly any walls separating the living room from the dining room from the kitchen.

When Quinn swiftly punches in Brittany's number, presses call, and held the phone gracefully to her ear, Santana stops.

Quinn Fabray is _so_ going to get it one day.

"Hello? Yes, hi! I'm looking for a Brittany Pierce?"

Santana glares.

"She's not there?"

_What?_

"What do you mean she'll be back tomorrow?"

The deep, mysterious voice on the other line answers, and Santana's a bit freaked out by the way Quinn's shoulders droops and her face softens. "Oh. Okay. Alright then, will you please tell her that Santana Lopez called?"

Santana's eyes widened and she almost tackles Quinn after she hangs up the phone. But then she remembered something more important at hand. "What'd she say?"

"_He _said that Brittany was taking a couple of days off and visiting her parents in Lima or something."

"Lima? Like, Lima, Ohio? Crappy ass Lima? The Lima _we _grew up in?" And then something else hits Santana. "Wait. _He? _As in, a boy? A boy answered that phone?!"_  
_

"Well-"

"Fuck, Fabray! I knew it! A pretty and gorgeous girl like her _would _have a boyfriend. Damn it!"

"Hey! It might be her brother or something, or a roommate! Or like-"

"I will put you on a the guillotine and personally pull the rope myself, Q. I will take your damn phone and send dirty text messages to Rachel on your behalf. I will-"

Quinn's phone rings and some Barbra Streisand song fills the silence of the living room. Santana looks at Quinn quizzically.

Quinn just looked horrified and picked up the phone. "Hello?" Then her cat-like smirk returned, and the Barbra song was forgotten. "Yeah. She's next to me. Let me just tell you how nervous she was about calling, Britt." There was laughter on the other end, and Santana jumped out of her skin. Horrified, she reached out for the phone in Quinn's hand, only to have it be smacked away by Quinn. "Oh yeah. She was staring at that napkin ever since we came home from the hospital."

"Give me the fucking phone, Q!" Santana whispered, desperate.

Quinn waved off Santana, like a mother who couldn't be bothered because some urgent business had come up. "Mmhm. Hey, how 'bout we all hang out on Friday? I did promise Sam and Sugar we'd all grab dinner some time," Quinn chuckled. Santana makes a mental note to poison Quinn's food later. "Sounds great. I'll let her know. Bye, Britt."

She hangs up.

"Wha-" Santana started, "Didn't she want to talk to me?"

"Oh, hush, S. You'll see her on Friday," Quinn said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Plus, she seemed really urgent about something."

"But she didn't want to talk to me?"

"S, she said she had to go, so I let her go. Plus, she said she missed you." Quinn waggled her eyebrows at Santana.

"I swear, Fabray, I don't even know how I ended up here with you and Berry."

"Shut up, you love me."

"Sometimes, Q, I doubt that. I doubt that very, very much."

* * *

"Missed me?" Brittany asked as she pulled Santana in for a tight hug in front of Mike Chang's sushi restaurant.

"She's been missing you ever since last week," Rachel said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, opening the heavy glass door of the restaurant.

"Staring at the dining table," Quinn added as they made their way in and slipped into a booth, giving Mike a small nod when she saw him taking orders from some costumers across the room. "Wondering if she should call or not."

Santana felt blood rushing to her face, and she prayed that her mother was right when she told her ethnic people can't really blush. She kicked at Quinn's shin from across the table and relished at Quinn's face when it distorted in pain. Quinn shot her a glare, and Santana just shrugged.

"Let me guess," Sugar said, slipping into the seat beside Quinn and Rachel, "there was moping and whining and worrying."

"There was not!" Brittany exclaimed, cheeks and ears growing pink.

Sugar giggled and turned to Santana, "Next time, call a day after. Then I won't have to listen to my roommate whine the whole week and stare at the phone."

Santana just smiled, turning her head and staring at the blonde next to her. "Will do."

Brittany was blushing harder now, playing with her hands and tucking her hair behind her ears. "Can we order?" She seemed desperate to change the subject. "Please?"

"Well, seems like I'm on time then."

"Mike!" Sugar exclaimed, standing up and offering her arms out for a hug. "How's my favorite boyfriend of my other best friend?"

Mike laughed and gave Sugar an one armed hug. "Good, can't have you guys coming after me, huh?"

Sugar sat back down. "You know it. But that's ok, maybe we can form an alliance and kick Santana's butt if she ever break BrittBritt's heart!"

"Sugar!"

"It's fine, Britt. We all know how you feel about dating," Sugar laughed, completely forgetting Santana was sitting right next to the blue eyed blonde.

Brittany shot her a death glare and Sugar immediately went quiet, suddenly aware of Santana's presence. She gave Brittany a sheepish smile. Santana tried to make it look like it wasn't a big deal, but she couldn't help but wonder if she'd blown the chance of ever getting together with Brittany after that comment. She'd tried to kiss her, after all.

Mike cleared his throat. "So," he began, "what can I get for you ladies?"

"Just the usual for me and Britt," Sugar smiled.

Then for the first time since they sat down, Rachel Berry opened her mouth. "Do you have anything here that's vegan?"

* * *

Mike eventually got all their orders down, even Rachel, who spent at least half an hour questioning every single thing on the menu. She settled for a fruit salad that Mike offered to make especially for her, since it wasn't even on the menu.

"Where's Sam?" questioned Sugar, her brain suddenly aware of the big lipped blonde that was missing.

"He's got a date," Brittany waved off, obviously still angry at Sugar.

"A date?" Santana questioned, hardly believing her ears. "That boy with giant lips can get a date?"

"S, what did we say about Sam and his lips?"

"That we should nickname him Trouty?"

Quinn scoffed and Santana smirked.

Brittany just laughed. "It's fine, really. He used to have a rack of chap sticks in his locker back when we were in high school."

"Quinn mentioned you were from Lima, Britt," Rachel said, changing the subject.

"Born and bred," Brittany nodded. "I moved when I was in middle school though, when my dad got a job offer in New York. And I've been here ever since."

"Well, we just missed each other then," Quinn started. "I moved to Lima just after middle school."

"At least you weren't there since birth and got stuck there for the first half of your life," Santana whined. "If there's a special place reserved in hell for people who're different, Lima is that place."

Sugar giggled. "Lima sounds horrifying."

"It does," Rachel agree.

"That's because it _is._"

"The stars that comes out at night sure beats New York, though," Brittany said, smiling. "I used to go to this field whenever I was upset, and just stare up at the night sky."

Santana imagined Brittany, her golden hair flowing down and caressing her shoulders, lying on her back in a grassy field, staring at the night sky under the moonlight. She imagined lying next to Brittany and waiting for a shooting star and occasionally sneaking kisses and glances.

"So what's a few undergraduates like you guys doing in a hospital, anyways?"

Santana shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts. She turned to Sugar. "What?"

"Well, you guys _are _21, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So you guys have like, another 4 years of medical school before getting an internship at a hospital or something."

Quinn laughed. "Well, we do. It's just that a really well known doctor came into our class one day for a lecture, and Santana here made quite an impression on him. So he said we could learn a thing or two at an actual hospital, and he pulled some strings. We still have to go to medical school, though. God knows we're not even near being actual doctors yet."

Brittany perked up, suddenly interested. "What'd she do?"

"Long story short, after his totally unprofessional break down about how he had wanted to be a street artist but chickened out, I told him to suck it up and become a damn street artist, because doctors are supposed to be passionate about what they do, and if they're not, they've signed up for the wrong damn thing."

"Wow."

"2 months later I get a call, and here I am with Quinn and this midget."

"Great story, Santana," Rachel started, "but I assure you mine is better and oh, you won't believe the drama that led me here!"

Santana stopped listening then- she knew Rachel was now in it for the long run and won't shut up until midnight. And it was only noon.

Instead, she focused on her meal and another question came creeping up on her, one that she'd prefer not to know and one that she definitely thought she wouldn't think about in a million years, because Santana Lopez was _not _the dating type.

_How come Brittany seemed so reluctant to dating?_


	4. I Can Breathe For The First Time

**A/N: **Thank you all again.

I'm sorry if this story is going a bit slow.. I still don't know where I'm going with this, the only thing I have a clear view of is one thing that I won't reveal because yeah.

As always, you're opinions/comments are always appreciated and your follows makes me remember that you want this finished, so I'll try my best.

nO but seriously I think this story isn't very good and I'll gladly take any advice any of you have, because I don't have a beta (though if you do want to beta this I will love you forever and you're welcome to PM me!)

I can answer any of your questions via my tumblr (link on my profile), or anywhere really!

It's nice to know people actually read this and have opinions, no matter how harsh/judgemental because like I said, every piece of advice on how I can get better at writing is gladly appreciated. I'm not half as good as some of the writers on here, with amazing and touching stories that's weaved to perfection with hundreds of beautiful words. So yeah.

Apologies on my rant.

Here's chapter 4 and womp, time skip! AND ALSO: Plot progression! (and don't worry, Santana and Brittany will eventually be together, I just wanted to focus on their friendship first for a little.) ((Actually a bit proud of this chappy. Onwards!))

* * *

**New York, 2009. **

* * *

"Delivery for Ms. Lopez!" came a voice from behind the closed and locked door of the apartment Santana shared with Rachel and Quinn. There was giggling.

Santana groaned, got up from the couch she was studying from, and unlocked the door without bothering to check who was behind it and swung it open. She smiled as she sees the familiar grin that belonged to no other than Brittany S. Pierce. "Hey, Britt," Santana says softly, leaning against the door frame, rubbing her eyes. After their lunch date Quinn had set up, Brittany and Santana had became fast friends, and Santana had allowed herself to throw any thoughts of a possible romantic relationship with the bubbly blonde away.

Or at least, she tried to, anyways.

"Hey yourself," Brittany replied, stepping in like she'd been doing the past few months, swinging the white paper bag in her hands that Santana knows contained her and Brittany's lunch. "When was the last time you ate, anyways?"

Santana shrugged, closing the door behind her and following Brittany to the dining room. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Brittany set down the white paper bag and emptied it's contents, revealing two finely wrapped subs. "Finals week must be crazy."

Santana nodded, taking a sit and laying her head on the table. Brittany herself had dropped out of college first year and had decided to chase her dreams in becoming a professional dancer. It had been successful - she had somehow landed a job teaching dance at NYADA and was now considering opening her own studio with Mike. "Yeah, Quinn and Rachel has been out all week, trying to get away from the distractions of the apartment. But if you're asking me, they're just looking for an excuse to make out at the library privately."

Secretly, Santana wished that the two of them _were _really making out in a small, tucked away corner of their school library. Then she wouldn't have to live with the sexual tension and burning jealousy from Quinn because Rachel got herself some hunky dude named Jesse St. James. To be honest, Santana was surprised man-hands could score anybody at all, even a self-centered diva that was probably the gayest man Santana has ever met. No, scratch that. The gayest man Santana has ever met was Kurt Hummel, Rachel's best friend from high school who had somehow found his way on Santana's list of people she'll at least _try_ not to kill.

"Well, no matter where they're making out, they probably had a full stomach doing it," Brittany giggled, taking a seat across from Santana. She pushed one of the sandwiches to Santana, poking her head for good measure. "You really ought to know when to stop studying and eat, you know."

Santana, head still down and buried in her arms, mumbled, "If I did, I wouldn't be graced by your lovely presence every Wednesday at noon and Friday night."

Brittany unwrapped her own sandwich, shaking her head at the Latina across from her, a smile set firmly on her lips. "If you did, I'd still come every week and have lunch and dinner with you."

Santana showed her face, still lying on her crossed arms on the table. "Seriously though, Britt, thanks for bringing me lunch and dinner for the past two weeks." She grinned sheepishly, "I swear, next week when the finals craze settles down, I'm taking you out to dinner. Hell, I'm taking you out to dinner for the next two months."

"I can almost taste the McDonalds I'll be having for the next two months already, San."

Santana just laughed, sitting up straight. "How about this," she said, unwrapping her sandwich on the table, "I'll cook you something this Friday night."

"A date, San?" Brittany teased, raising her eyebrows. "I didn't take you as the dating type."

"Says the person who hasn't been a relationship for the past 2 years," Santana shot back, still giggling.

The blonde was smiling, and Santana couldn't quite place the emotion in it. It wasn't the usual smile Brittany had on her face, instead, it was a sad little smile, like what Santana said had caused Brittany to remember something.

She shook it off when Brittany suddenly laughed, teasing Santana back. "Hey, like you're any better!"

"Okay, okay, so we both have relationship issues. What else is new?"

Brittany shrugged, still smiling a little, and took another bite of her sandwich. Santana noticed the blonde's change of mood almost immediately.

"Britt? You okay?" She tried to find Brittany's eyes, hoping it'd tell her the emotions Brittany was failing to express in words, but the blonde kept her head down. "Did I say something? I mean, the relationship issue may be too far, but hey! You're staring at the woman who's had more one night stands than real dates!" Santana joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Brittany looked up then, and let out a little laugh. Santana relaxed.

Her body didn't really had a chance to fully let go when it tensed again at the next thing Brittany says.

"I'm sick, San."

Being a medical student, Santana knows that this version of sick wasn't the common cold. She knows it isn't the flu or the sniffles or a small fever. When someone say they're sick the way Brittany had say it, small and tired and barely just there, it meant something bad. And yet she couldn't let it slip out of her mouth, because Santana needed reassurance that this isn't something bad. She needed Brittany to say it was just a bad case of stomach flu when she knew it wasn't. "Sick?"

Even that small piece of knowledge that it was something that couldn't just be cured with a bowl of soup and a night of cartoons didn't save or prepare Santana from what she hears next. Nothing ever could, really.

"It's cancer."

* * *

It isn't really something Santana had expected to hear. It isn't something Santana expected to hear, _ever,_ really. Because who drops a bomb like that in the middle of a conversation? Don't they usually sit you down for these kinds of things?

Santana tried to ignore the flood of questions and concerns and words that came to her head.

Sure, she was to be a doctor someday, hopefully a successful surgeon. Sure, there was going to be one day in the far future that Santana would have to bring heartbreaking news to patients and families and friends, and watch them cry and sob and ask _How? _and _Why?_ in front of her. And she would have to look into their eyes, her own heart breaking a little too, and instead of answering their questions, telling them about the situation of the patient.

But she had never expected she'd get the news herself, so all she could do was stare at the blonde before her. Her throat is dry and surprisingly, so is her eyes. The question is still there, though. _How?_

_Why?_

"San?" Brittany looked at her, bright blue meeting her dull chocolate browns. Santana could feel a hand on hers.

She swallowed. "How long?"

"What do you mean?"

Santana had a creeping feeling that this isn't the first time Brittany had been sick. Something in her stomach turned. "How long have you been fighting?"

Brittany shook her head. "It came back. It never really went away, I don't think. It just hid for a while."

Their sandwiches were long forgotten now on the round glass dining table, and so was Santana's intentions of studying on the couch while Brittany rested her chin on her shoulder from behind her, arms snaked around her waist like any other day.

Santana tried to swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as Brittany explained her diagnosis at 19, her chemo therapy and her surprisingly rapid recovery. She tried to make the images go away as Brittany told her about the time she fainted at Mike's restaurant and the real explanation of it from the CT scans and the x-rays two weeks later.

Santana tried to breathe.

She can't fucking breathe.

Oh, God, how do you _breathe _again?

Everything seems so numb and dull and the Earth kept spinning as Santana took in the information she was given.

How is everything still going when she just received the news that the first girl that's made her really smile in her life was diagnosed with a disease that took away thousands?

"Santana?" Her brain has yet registered how to breathe or form words yet, and Brittany's worried face looks like it's from a dream. Everything seemed to be floating out of her reach as she stared at nothing. Then Santana feels a hand atop hers, and suddenly she's grounded again. "Please say something?"

Santana moves. She moves her hand so that it's on top of Brittany's instead of the other way around. Her lips move, but her brain isn't quite there yet. It took her a few minutes to realize what she asked. "Are you scared?"

Santana isn't sure who she's asking for, because in all honestly, she was fucking _terrified._ The very image of Brittany's pale and worn out body that looked too small on the hospital bed (despite the blonde's height) that's barely breathing leaves Santana shaking and frightened.

But who was she to be scared? She was Santana fucking Lopez, the girl who made it out of Lima Heights Adjacent alive. She was supposed to be strong for Brittany, supposed to be here for person who turned out to be her best friend in the span of a few months.

She feels like she's known Brittany all her life, but she really just got here. She just got here and she isn't sure whether the blonde wanted her to stay or not.

"I'm terrified." Brittany's barely audible whisper that Santana could've easily missed if the room hadn't been so eerily quiet made her heart clench and something else hits her, something she isn't quite sure she knows.

Santana makes her decision.

She's going to fight for Brittany and she's going to fight with Brittany, and the world can keep moving again, because at that moment, it was just them.

It was just them and nothing can touch them.

Santana breathes.


	5. Die Dancing

Santana silently cursed the broken elevators that hasn't been fixed for weeks as she climbed the flights of stairs that led to her apartment on the third floor, carrying the bags of groceries she'd especially bought to cook dinner for Brittany that night. The wooden stairs creaked under her weight as she made her way up the steps one by one, her muscles crying for mercy.

When she finally reached her door, Santana was met by a different kind of cry that sounded more like a scream. Only one person in the world could yell like that - a person who could talk non stop on a daily basis about her work as a nurse and her internship and drone on and on about how she had finished nursing school with shooting gold stars on her finals and college report card. She knows immediately that shit was going down as she listened intently at Rachel's muffled shouting.

"I just don't get what your problem with him is!"

Santana gripped her bags tightly, knowing full well what Quinn's problem with Jesse St. Gay was.

"You told me he egged you in high school, that's what!"

That definitely wasn't it.

"He's changed, Quinn. And why do you care? You didn't even remember I went to the same high school as you until ten months ago!"

"That's different!"

"How?!" Rachel sounded as if she's on the verge of tears. "Tell me how it's different, Quinn."

Silence.

Inwardly, Santana cringed. Even though she's known Rachel since high school, they were never really close and Rachel had moved away because Quinn used to draw weird shit on Rachel's face in year books. That was before Santana could even call Rachel a Baggins of Bag End.

They'd forgotten about each other since then, that is until Rachel ran into them at the hospital a few months back, fresh out of college and looking for a place to live. Santana stood by the door, silently waiting for Quinn to sigh and apologize whatever the hell she did and to tell Rachel that high school was a thing of the past. That was how it usually went down the past month they'd been arguing.

But then Rachel lets out a laugh, short and mocking and so un-Rachel-Berry-like it scared Santana (though she'd never openly admit it). "It's all about you, isn't it? Ever since high school. You know, I thought you really did change from that bitchy top cheerleader way back when. I thought that this time, you actually _liked _me," Rachel seethed. "But every time it ends the same. Trapped in a closet with Jew-fro during that Freshmen party, mocked by the whole school as _you_ throw drinks at me all throughout Junior year. A _bet _on how long it'd take to make Runt Rachel Berry transfer. Well congratulations, it only took a fucking miserable _month__._"

Santana's mouth is hanging open, mainly because Rachel hardly swore and partly because she was present during all these things. She remembers the verbal abuse she'd thrown at Rachel's way, but she'd apologized for it in private after Rachel had transferred, and again when they met years after. She had never remembered the bet. What the hell was the bet?

The wheels in her brain were on overdrive and Santana almost misses the angry stomps that were getting closer to the door. Jumping a litte, she quickly shuffled a few feet back to the top of the stairs, trying to make it seem like she had just gotten home.

The door swung open, revealing Rachel with her head held high, but face streaked with dried tears and her eyes misty.

"Hey, Rach."

Rachel just gave Santana a stare, sad and apologizing. She opened her mouth, and for once Santana is kind of glad. "Tell Quinn to call me when she's ready to apologize. I'm going to stay at Jesse's." Then she brushes past Santana and disappeared down the stairs as quick as she came.

Santana looked down at the empty stair case, wondering what the hell just happened. Slowly, she turned around and headed back in the apartment, opening the door with slight difficulty due to her groceries and how sore her arms had become.

Once she made it in, she set the bags on the countertops and called out for her best friend. "Quinn?" Santana makes her way to the living room. Her eyes softened when she sees her friend on the couch, her face in her hands. "Q," she said quietly, making her way to the couch and sitting next to the blonde, "what happened?"

"I-" Quinn started, and Santana knows right then that Quinn's crying - the soft kind of crying that she does when she didn't want Santana to pry because that meant dealing with her feelings. "I'm just an idiot, S."

"I'll say. Rachel says she's staying at Jesse's until you apologize. What'd you do anyways, Q? Tackle the scarf-wearing diva man the minute he made his way in?"

Quinn glared at Santana. "You did that."

"To Kurt. Because he tried to take away the remote and changed the channel to _America's Next Top Model _when I was watching _Grey's Anatomy._"

Quinn sighed and Santana knows that Quinn doesn't want to talk. And since Santana's horrible at these things, the question slips out of her mouth before she could even think about it. "Want to join me and Britt for dinner?"

That earns a small laugh from Quinn, and Santana's a bit thankful when Quinn actually lifts her head out of her hands and turns to her. She sniffled, "Wouldn't I be ruining your little date?"

Warmth spread through her cheeks. She'd been wondering the same thing, but Brittany and her were friends and nothing more. Hell, Santana _still _doesn't know if Brittany plays on her team. So she shook her head, smiling a little. "Just a dinner. And I'm cooking, Q. You can't say no to that."

"You'll poison my dinner," Quinn deadpanned.

"All the more reason you should join us."

At that, Quinn laughed. "I'll think about it," she said. "Thanks, San."

"Yeah."

Both friends sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at nothing but thinking about everything. Santana's thoughts wander back to two days ago when Brittany told her about being sick - the cancer that had spread from her lungs to her brain, and that other tumor that had wiggled it's way in.

"S?"

Santana jolts back to reality. "Yeah?" She turned to Quinn, who was staring at her like she'd grown another head.

"Don't you have a dinner to cook?"

"Oh. Oh, shit."

* * *

Santana groaned as Quinn told Brittany another horrifying story of their high school cheer days. They'd just finished their little dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with a side salad Santana had thrown together, happily chatting away with bottles of beer in both Quinn and Santana's hands and sparkling apple juice in Brittany's. The dirty dishes were still on the table, long forgotten as the three women enjoyed each other's company and laughed until there were tears in their eyes.

Santana swore under her breath as Quinn droned on about the horrible things Coach Sylvester made her do and the one time she slapped Santana with a piece of raw chicken thigh, and then kicked Quinn under the table (which Brittany noticed since their dinner table was made of glass anyways) when she mentioned the one month when Santana bought girls to the apartment almost every weekend. Brittany had raised her eyebrows at that, and Santana wanted to just disappear down a hole right then. To be fair, she had been trying to move on from a girl named Alana she'd dated all throughout senior year in high school throughout freshmen year in university.

The only good thing she got out of all the embarrassment Quinn had subjected her to was Brittany's laugh. It was clear and melodic and sounded like the wind chimes that hung above her back porch during the middle of spring. Santana briefly wondered how she'd lived so long without ever hearing Brittany's laugh. She'd never been so keen on making someone laughed before, but when Santana first heard that light-hearted laugh - the kind of laugh that six year olds laugh when they're amused by something you had said, full of happiness and easiness and without a care in the world - she made it her goal to always make the blue eyed blonde laugh every time they hung out.

"So what about you, Britt?"

"What?"

"Got anyone special?" Quinn wiggles her eyebrows.

That got Santana's attention, even if she know Brittany's been single for forever. "Geez, Q! Just 'cause your love life is failing doesn't mean you have to pry in other people's."

Quinn rolled her eyes, but kept her attention on Brittany. "C'mon, someone as hot as you can't not have boys falling all over your feet."

Santana kicked Quinn under the table again. Brittany just blushed, "No, not at the time. Not for a long time, actually."

Even though Santana already knew that Brittany didn't date for two years, it still makes her heart pound whenever she hears anything even remotely romantic involving Brittany, half out of jealous rage at the thought of someone else with Brittany and half out of pure adrenaline at the thought of Brittany being with _her. _

"Got a type then?"

Brittany shakes her head, giggling.

"What about someone like Santana over here?" Quinn asks almost nonchalantly, grinning and pointing at Santana. Brittany looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

Santana wants to slap that cat-like grin off of Quinn's face. She stood up abruptly, "It's late."

Quinn hummed, "Yeah."

Brittany stands up then, too, and started to pick up their plates. "I'll do the dishes," she insisted, grabbing Santana's plate at the same time that Santana tries to pick up her own.

"No, I'll do it."

Their hands touch for just a second. It's stupid, Santana knows, to feel that dumb tingle every time they touched, as if she was a silly high school girl with a crush.

Is this what this was?

"I'm going to bed."

Santana glares at Quinn. "Thanks for offering to help."

"Hey, it's not everyday Santana Lopez offers to do house chores," Quinn shot back, picking up her plate and heading for the kitchen, dumping it in the sink with a giant _clang! _"Make sure you make her vacuum the whole house while she's at it," Quinn said with a wink as Brittany and Santana made their way to the kitchen. "She seems to only listen to you."

"You know, Q," Santana called as Quinn made her way upstairs, "I change my mind. Go to bed. We don't need you."

"Harsh words, S!" Quinn called back from the stairs.

"Fuck you!" Santana turned to Brittany. "I'm doing the dishes, by the way."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Brittany giggled. "I wonder why you're still single." She went by Santana's side and nudged her on the hips. "I'm helping."

There was a moment of quiet silence as Santana dipped the plates in the sink full of soap water, wiping it with a sponge, and handed it to Brittany, who gladly took it for a clean rinse and a place to dry on the dish rack. Their actions were quietly repeated and Santana couldn't help but imagine what it'd be like to come home to Brittany every night, and to wake up to her every morning. She thinks back to their conversation just two nights ago and wonder if it's really possible. Even the mere thought of never seeing the blonde again has Santana feeling queasy and leaves an unsettling feeling in her stomach. Did Brittany even choose treatment? Is she going through treatment right now?

Santana knows the brutal process that is chemo therapy, she knows the throwing up and the losing hair, she knows the loss of appetite and even the emotional damage. And she doesn't like to think about how she knew.

"I don't think chivalry comes into play here, Britts," Santana suddenly said, "unless I were to ask you out and take you on a super fancy date where I open doors for you and stuff."

"Or you can come rescue me from an evil dragon."

"Anything for you, Britt," Santana chuckled. "Anything for you."

Brittany giggled, "Promise you'll come and rescue me then?"

Santana could only smile. "Promise." Then she frowns, remembering, giving the last plate to Brittany. "Britt?"

"Yeah?"

Santana's voice sounds so small she hates it. She wipes her hands on the dish towel that was hanging on the cupboard handle below the sink. "Are you going to do treatment?"

Brittany places the last dish she'd finished rinsing on the rack and dries her hand on her shirt. She sighs. "I don't know, San."

There's silence. The running water from the faucet is so loud it's unbearable.

Santana closes it almost too violently, and she realizes she's kind of mad at Brittany's decision, even if it wasn't her decision at all. Santana reminds herself that she knows the process, the painful and brutal suffering, and she knows what it feels like to not even come out of it healthier and _alive. _

"I don't think I can go through that again. I just want to _live, _that's all I want." Brittany beams at Santana. "Like when I dance," she says, in a lighter tone, "and everything else is gone and it's just me and the beat and the music rushing through my veins."

Santana's mind raced. "A dance, huh?" Brittany smiles and nods. Santana offered Brittany her hand. "How 'bout it, then?"

A giggle fills the room. The blonde lends Santana her hand; it's soft and delicate and oh-so-gentle. Santana takes no time in pulling her in, grinning like an idiot. They're in a position of a waltz; both right hands tangled together and raised slightly in the air while Santana's left settled on Brittany's waist and Brittany's on Santana's shoulder.

They sway slowly, quietly, moulded into each other. And if all feels so right.

Brittany's lips move, her head nestled comfortably on Santana's shoulder, and her voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't want to die not dancing."

"I promise you won't."

* * *

**A/N:** _ooh, Author's note is down here this time. Sorry for the short chapter and the amount of time it took for me to update. It's been sort of hectic and I haven't exactly found the time and inspiration to write decently. That being said, I might scrap this whole thing altogether, but I'm still leaning on seeing where this goes.  
_

_Thoughts, comments, & critiques are all gladly appreciated._

_Thank you!_

_(ps. maybe a kiss is in order next chapter.. but who would it be?!)_


End file.

Glee, Hurt-Comfort, Romance